The Five of Us at Christmas
by ArwenLalaith
Summary: Sequel to You and I and Turning Five. Growing up, Emily had never had a Hallmark Christmas. Sure, they had all looked the part (thanks to interior decorators hired by her mother), but they'd lacked the heart, the warmth, the family behind the trappings that made everything real. This year, Emily was determined to give her family that real Christmas.


**AN: This is just a short little something to thank all of you for supporting me this year - and for reading about this little family I love writing so much! If you'd take the time to check out the poll on my profile, I'd greatly appreciate it! Help me decide what to write next!**

* * *

This being Gemma's first Christmas, Emily was almost fanatical about it being perfect, the way she hadn't been able to do for Charlotte.

Charlotte's first Christmas had been spent at The Home. Emily had scraped together the little money she had to buy her a few small toys, but it hadn't amounted to everything she'd wanted to give her and she still carried a lot of guilt over it.

"You know she doesn't remember that, right?" Ian asked as they lay in bed December First.

"I know," she said, arms crossed over her chest, giving her the appearance of a petulant child.

"And you know Gemma won't remember this one?"

"I _know_ ," she insisted.

"Then why are you twisting yourself in knots over this?" he asked gently. "You're stressing yourself out about this and they won't remember it, let alone appreciate it."

"Because it's Christmas," she insisted. "And it _matters_. It matters to me." She felt herself getting choked up in spite of herself.

Taking pity on her, Ian pulled her into his chest and kissed the top of her head. "Shh, Love. It's going to be alright."

"I want better than alright," she mumbled into his chest.

He chuckled softly. "Go to sleep, Love. Christmas can wait until morning."

* * *

Emily was starting to regret having more children than hands.

Ian had his hands full of Gemma's carseat and it was all Emily could do to keep her hands on Declan and Charlotte who were overstimulated and overexcited by the mall and the promise of seeing Santa.

"...and please, for the love of God, remember to use your polite company manners," Emily begged. "That means saying please and thank you, no burping or farting, and Gargy is not allowed."

"Gargy died," Charlotte informed her merrily. "Now I have a pet dragon. He burned Gargy with his fire."

"And no telling Santa that story," Emily groaned.

"I already writed it in my letter."

She didn't have to look at Ian to know he was silently laughing. "It's not funny," she hissed, "Santa is going to think we're raising sociopaths."

"It's a little funny," he insisted.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Your charge just spit up on her dress."

"She was looking too perfect to be one of ours anyway," he said with a shrug as he dabbed at the baby's mouth with a burp cloth. To be fair, he was right – Declan had juice staining his face and shirt and Charlotte's nice dress had at least three rips in it from the time she tried to climb a tree while wearing it.

"Just once, I'd like a nice picture of all my children..."

"Wrong family," Ian said with an apologetic kiss.

She sighed dramatically. "Okay, well, I'd like a picture where they don't look like complete ragamuffins," she amended.

"Even that might be stretching it."

And sure enough, as soon as the camera was pointed at them, Gemma started wailing and Declan had a candy cane stuck to Santa's coat. Charlotte, at least, was smiling genially...having just told Santa all about the time she got three marble stuck up her nose.

Emily would treasure it forever anyway, because they were her children.

* * *

Growing up, Emily had never had a Hallmark Christmas.

Sure, they had all _looked_ the part (thanks to interior decorators hired by her mother), but they'd lacked the heart, the warmth, the family behind the trappings that made everything _real_.

Because of that, she didn't have very many traditions to pass on to her kids. Ian was more than happy to take over in that department and give the children a semi-traditional Irish Christmas.

Emily was attempting to feed Gemma (who was mostly smearing the baby food all over the high chair and herself) when Ian came bursting in the door with the largest Christmas tree Emily had ever laid eyes on.

"Ian!" Emily exclaimed, wiping apple sauce on her jeans. "What have you done?"

Panting with exertion, he dropped the tree in the middle of the living room and stood up to look her in the eye, dusting snow off his coat and onto the floor. "You wanted a real traditional Christmas – well, here it is! A good old Dublin mountain spruce!"

"That's enormous! Will it even fit in the living room?" she asked, eyeing the trail of pine needles that littered the floor from the door to the living room.

At that moment, Charlotte and Declan came bounding down the stairs, squealing with glee. "Christmas!" they cried in unison.

"Don't touch that!" Emily ordered, "You'll get all covered in sap and I'll never get that out..."

As usual, no one listened to her. By the time Ian got the tree standing in the corner, Declan and Charlotte were both sticky messes and Emily already knew she'd be spending hours trying to shampoo the sap out of their hair.

If pressed, she would admit that it was much nicer than the artificial tree she'd always had growing up (if they'd had one at all). And there was something particularly special about watching her kids hang all their homemade decorations on the tree...even if they could only reach the bottom three feet.

* * *

Standing in the doorway to Charlotte's bedroom, Emily was nearly reduced to tears watching Ian with the kids on Christmas Eve. The two older children lay on either side of him, all crowded together in Charlotte's little princess bed, and Gemma was curled up asleep on his chest, her little bum in the air.

It was so sweet and domestic it made her heart swell with how lucky she was to have this man in her life to raise her children with.

Then, she listened in to what he was reading to them and frowned.

"Whatever happened to _The Night Before Christmas_?" she asked once the kids had nodded off and he'd put Gemma down in her crib.

"What about it?" he asked, pulling her into his chest so he could kiss her.

"Well, I thought we agreed to save Joyce for their sixth birthdays..." she replied sarcastically. "Isn't a story titled _The Dead_ a little grim for Christmas Eve?"

He shrugged. "It's like the Irish version of _A Christmas Carol_... My Ma read it to me when I was wee. And I left out the sex and drinking."

She couldn't help but laugh and kiss him back because never in a million years had she imagined herself and her daughter _here_ , with traditions and bedtime stories and a man who loved them more than life itself.

* * *

The morning of January Sixth, Emily rolled over to look at the alarm clock and nearly leapt out of bed in a panic. Gemma _always_ cried to be fed at 5AM sharp and it was now nearing 7 and she hadn't heard a peep out of the baby.

When she peered into the nursery to see what was going on, Gemma wasn't in her crib and Emily felt her panic level rise sharply.

Then, a voice from behind her demanded, "What are you doing out of bed?"

She whirled around with a start to find Ian playfully glaring at her. He was wearing Gemma tied to his chest with the baby-wrap and she melted just a little at the sight. "I didn't hear her cry and I thought..."

"I've got her under control," he interrupted, gesturing at her with a spatula. "Get back to bed."

" _Back to bed_?" she repeated incredulously.

"Nollaig na mBean," he informed her.

"Women's Christmas?" she interpreted slowly and rather skeptically.

He nodded once. "And you'll ruin the surprise if you don't get your beautiful behind back in bed."

She laughed. "With pleasure."

Twenty minutes later, she heard giggling outside the bedroom door that could only be Declan and Charlotte waiting to surprise her. They burst into the room with shouts of "Mommy Christmas!" and immediately began jumping on the bed in glee.

Ian followed shortly after with a tray of pancakes in his hands; Gemma was fruitlessly trying to stick her hands into the syrup from her spot on his chest.

"We made you pancakes!" Charlotte hollered in Emily's ear.

"Pancakes, pancakes!" Declan shouted.

"How sweet of you," Emily cooed, grabbing them both and kissing their cheeks so they would stop bouncing. "Did you let Daddy help you?"

Ian groaned. "I should have listened to your warnings, Love. There's flour _everywhere_."

She laughed, grinning an _'I told you so...'_ smile. "I'll clean it up later," she said.

"What part of Nollaig na mBean don't you understand?" he scolded. "You're not to lift a finger today. You leave the cleaning and cooking and child-minding to me."

Emily hummed appreciatively. "I _like_ this tradition." She pulled him close by his shirt collar to kiss him soundly.

"You worked so hard to give the little ones the best Christmas, I figured you deserved the same. We're all so lucky to have you and I may not be the best at showing it – this lot sure isn't..." he said, nodding towards the two children currently eating her pancakes and getting syrup all over the bedspread. "But everyday you give so much to give them the world and I appreciate it more than you can possibly know. And if one day a year, I can show you even a little of my gratitude, I'll gladly change every diaper and wipe every nose and clean an entire kitchen covered in flour."

She gave him a watery smile and kissed him again.

"Merry Christmas, Love," he whispered against her lips.


End file.
